The Syntax of Progression
by WastedOn
Summary: Barbara's ill-fated time leap brings her to a grim future. Femslash.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:**_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Birds of Prey. No profit is being made._

_Rating: T for dirty talk, swearing, mild sexual content._

_Pairing: Barbara/Helena, Helena/OC, Barbara/Wade  
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_Warnings: Time travel, drug use, drinking, angst, femslash, pinky and the brain, excessively delicious muffin tops along with a variety of other baked goods products._

_Other: This is the longest thing I have ever written and is still in progress. It's at over 27k words right now (I know that's chump change to most people), but it's a lot for me, especially after ruthlessly hacking it to death before deciding it was okay enough to be put up somewhere. This story is femslash but of course all are encouraged. To love fanfiction is to be in love with love... and isn't the language of love universal?_

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**Helena**_  
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_The sum of time in all its parts is infinite, therefore its parts are infinite, therefore each part is infinite._

_The Scwarrel Theorem_

If I weren't such a damn good bartender I would have been an artist.

Dinah said I draw like a chimpanzee. Well fuck you Dinah. Barbara would say I was brilliant if she ever were to see something I had a hand in creating. Not that I would ever show her.

Most of what I did was painting on canvas at my apartment. A few months after I moved in I converted the extra bedroom into a makeshift studio, with lots of old sheets draped everywhere to protect the walls and the carpet. The first portrait I did was of Barbara at her desk, resting her chin on folded arms, eyes wide open and looking straight at me. I spent weeks just on her hair, perfecting every conceivable detail of her highlights. I had more reds, oranges and yellows laying around my apartment than any other color because of that.

For her eyes I cleverly (if I may say so) hid specks of green glitter under the surface of the final layer of paint. When light glanced off of her the vague illusion of sparkling intelligence was almost befitting of Her Oracleness herself.

Barbara Gordon ended up being the only portrait to grace my dirty hole of an apartment. I developed a fondness for painting interior architecture, like the insides of churches. Dark, empty, Gothic cathedral type of stuff, the kind with rose skylights and stained glass windows. No people - just the walls, the pews, the light and the dark. They all worked well together and people just kind of ruined it.

I had never stepped foot inside a church, but I'd seen them on TV. My mother had hated them. I never found out exactly what her grudge was, but I had felt like it would have been a betrayal on my part to go church hopping after her death, so I made do with creating my own. Mine were probably prettier anyway.

Churches weren't everything I did, they were just my favorite. Currently I was putting the finishing touches on some kind of extraterrestrial part chicken, part dog, part alien… thing. It was a book cover for some hotshot fantasy author, and it would be the first time I was to be paid for my art. I had gotten a hookup at No Man's Land from Gibson, who had a friend who had a friend whose cousin was an editor, or something like that. Gibson hung out at my place all the time, so he knew the kind of stuff I did and recommended me.

I had thought he did it to try and get a date out of me. I did get wasted and play Twister with him, which was basically the same thing.

I was carefully working my initials into a convenient bit of background (a spaceship, go figure), when _it_ came.

The phone call that would be my doom.

Well, that would inadvertently eventually lead to it.

I tucked my brush behind my ear, fishing around in my pockets for my cell. "Uh… hello?"

"_Helena."_ It was Barbara. _"Why aren't you answering on comms?"_

…Good question. My hands shot to my earlobes.

"I took them off to take a shower and forgot to put them back on. What's going on?"

"_Delphi alert. Unusual activity in your bank account. Do you know why someone would deposit four thousand dollars into your checking account?"_

Oh right, the advance from the editor for my, erm… masterpiece. I rolled my eyes. "Yes, Barbara, don't worry, it's perfectly legit. I was expecting it. I hope you didn't freeze my accounts or anything crazy like that."

A suspiciously empty static filled the silence.

"Hello?"

"_Ah…"_

"Jesus with a corncob, Barbara. Fix it please."

I heard the furious clatter of her ergonomic keyboard through the static.

"_On it. Sorry Helena, but you know we can never be too safe."_

"Right," I said distractedly, my attention returning to alien Fido. "Thanks for the interrupt. Later, Babs."

"_Oh, wait, what about the, uh…?"_

"What, Barbara?"

Like I didn't know. Curiosity was the kryptonite to Barbara Gordon's Superman.

"_I mean, you're not - you're still working at the bar, aren't you? Where'd you get that kind of money? I mean,"_ she added, _"you don't have to tell me. Just wondering. As an interested friend."_

I dabbed the tip of my brush in a cup of maroon. "Oh, that's my next month's crack money."

"_Did I… uh, what?"_

"I know, right?" I carefully lined the bottom curve of the "K" in my initials. "Most girls just get two thousand, but now that I'm the number one girl I get twice that, so long as I don't spend any on blow for the other bitches."

"_Erm… Right. I'll… get in contact later. Keep your comms on."_

Serves her right for being so nosy.

"Whatever. Bye."

A false alarm. A few laughs. Sounded so innocuous, didn't it?

That's what I thought too.


	2. Chapter 2

_Sometimes lies were more dependable than the truth. _

_Andrew "Ender" Wiggins_

Four thousand dollars cash deposited into my top vigilante's checking account.

She was counting cards at the Penguin Luxe. She wrote a brilliant screenplay and sold the rights to a troupe downtown. She won a scratch ticket at the stop and go.

She sold her body to a high class politician and was holding the evidence as blackmail.

Ahem.

Whatever had happened, it was a mystery I was honor bound not to solve.

It was driving me in slow, maddening circles.

I needed to know.

"Barbara?" Wade waved a breadstick.

"What?" I snapped.

"Uh… Are you going to order?"

I looked up. The waiter threw me a false, impatient smile.

"Oh." I blinked. "The caesar salad. Please."

"Are you feeling alright?" Wade asked after the waiter had left. "You were mumbling to yourself. Something about needing to know?"

Blast my tendency to converse with myself when I'm passionate about certain matters. Dinah has said I would make an excellent super villain in that respect.

I casually sipped my tea. "Oh, it's - well, complicated. An issue with... a friend. You don't really know her..."

"Let me guess. Helena's done something."

"What?" I choked, automatically offended on my friend's behalf. "No, she has not done something." _Yes she has_, said my conscience while rolling its eyes. "You've never even met her, what would make you say that?"

"I didn't mean to imply she had done something wrong, Barbara," Wade apologized, "it's just that whenever there's an issue, it has something to do with her and that online muffin business. No offense but it seems like it's nothing but drama with her."

"It's not just muffins," I protested, once again bizarrely offended that he thought Helena and I's make-believe business only sold one thing. "We sell a variety of things. And so what if she did do something? It's not fair for you to assume any time I'm distracted or stressed that it's due to some construction of Helena's."

"So it was her? No, no-" he raised a hand to my tiddling, "I don't mean to accuse. I'm only saying that you should talk about it to someone. You're on edge, you keep missing work, you're tired all the time and you can barely make time for us… and you always say it's because of _her _and the business you own together, but you can never go into details with me."

"I've told you Helena -"

"I just want you to know… you can talk to me if you need to... and not worry about me telling anyone. You don't have to keep things bottled up," he rushed out.

A speech straight out of his counselor's handbook, I was sure. The tone in his voice was far from fake, however, and Wade's eyes were not upset - they were wide and concerned. I exhaled slowly.

"Maybe… maybe you're right."

"I'm not trying to pressure you into talking-"

"No Wade, you're right. I - you were correct the first time. It was Helena. But she didn't do anything wrong," I added. "It has to do with her finances."

"Is she not pulling her weight with the business?"

"No, no. I really don't think I should say any more…"

"Barbara, this is me," Wade insisted, "what does it matter what I know? Who am I going to tell?"

"Well…" The divulging of others' personal information had always (ironically) sat uncomfortably with me, however in reality it was unlikely that Helena would care should I choose to broadcast her personal business over a loudspeaker to the whole of New Gotham. Besides, this was Wade. I could trust him, and maybe I needed someone to vent to.

"Helena received four thousand dollars yesterday," I let out in a rush. "She wouldn't tell me where she got it from. I keep thinking about it, I can't stop. I just keep _wondering_."

"Four thousand - holy crap, Barbara. How did you find out?"

"She left her bank statement lying around the clock tower," I lied easily. "Wade, it was a cash deposit made by a second person into her account. She refused to give me a straight answer when I asked her about it."

"What?" Wade appeared genuinely shocked. "Four thousand, who carries around that kind of money? Did you report it to the police?"

"Of course not!" I decried, affronted. "Helena is my friend. I trust her."

"Then why are you so worried about it?"

"Because I'm curious!" I fretted. "I'm sure it's perfectly legitimate. But Hel knows how inquisitive I get. She withheld the information on purpose. She enjoys watching me like this!"

"That's why you're stressed out?" Wade straightened in his chair. "You're insatiably curious?"

"Is that a bad thing?" I frowned.

"Barbara Gordon. What am I thinking?" A grin spread widely across his face as my salad was placed on the table. "Of course that's what's bothering you. Of course."

I poked my fork at him.

"You know I don't think I like that grin of yours over there."

Wade chuckled.

"Can we change the subject? Actually, hey, did you know that new _Spacemaestro_ book is coming out? The one with the space dog?"

"Oh that's right," I realized happily. "I loved the first one, I can't wait to get my hands on - oh, Wade, hang on a second."

My phone was vibrating loudly in my purse. I opened it just enough to make out the message: DELPHI ALERT.

"Muffin emergency?" Wade guessed sadly. "We just got our food."

"I'm so sorry," I apologized. "Could you get me a takeout box? Maybe we can continue this later. I need to make a quick call."

"Right. I'll go find the waiter."

Wade left the table quickly but I was too bothered to check on how upset he was. After a quick glance around for unwanted listeners, I flicked the covert switch on my phoenix pendant necklace.

"Huntress, respond," I muttered. "Huntress, Canary."

*Oracle.*

Helena. I sighed in relief. "What's the situation?"

*Someone tried to break into the clock tower by forcing the front door.*

I hissed involuntarily.

*Delphi's locked everything down. Canary said she felt someone frustrated outside on ground level, but whoever he was, she thinks he's gone now.*

A normal run of the mill robbery? Unlikely. It was too convenient. What idiot would rob a clock tower?

"Does she think he'll come back?"

There was a pause.

*She doesn't know. He was a pretty good distance away, she says she didn't get much from him, except that he was alone and frustrated he couldn't get in.*

"You keep saying he. Is Canary sure he's male?"

Another pause.

*No she's not sure. Do you want to talk to her? She keeps running her mouth over here while I'm trying to talk.*

"No, that will be unnecessary. Keep the tower on lockdown. I'll comm you when I get there and tell you how to let me in."

*Cool. I'll keep an eye out from the balcony to make sure no one tries approaching the hummer when you pull up. Or you know, get in the door with you or whatever.*

"Excellent. I'll see you in twenty minutes," I finished hurriedly, tucking the pendant down my neckline.

"Whew!" Wade exclaimed, falling into his seat. "You know, I think that waiter was hitting on me. I got the boxes. Did you find out what's going on?"

"Someone tried to break into the clock tower."

"Oh my god," Wade gasped. In the back of my mind a voice that sounded suspiciously like Helena's immediately imitated his girlish squeal. "Is Dinah okay?"

"Her and Helena are fine. The tower is outfitted with a decent security system, it alerted the authorities and the bandit seems to have run off."

"So you don't need to go after all?" Wade needled hopefully.

I winced remorsefully. "They need my fingerprint to turn off the alarm."

More falsehoods flowing from my lips as easily as water from a pitcher.

He handed me the box of salad. "Lunch tomorrow, then?"

I smiled politely. "Absolutely."

I wheeled from the table without looking back, mind buzzing with defense plans, possible criminals and their possible motivations, city patrol routes… everything except for Wade. I would have told myself I would feel guilty later, but I, Barbara, unfortunately could not lie to myself. I never managed to fall for it.


	3. Chapter 3

_Rubber Ducky, I'm awfully fond of you._

_Ernie_

*Huntress?*

"Hm," I said, pouring a double of bourbon while trying not to sound like a mental patient by talking to air in front of the patrons. Most people would be surprised how much time out of my day was devoted to _not_ seeming crazy.

"Did you say something?" asked Mr. Five O'clock Shadow with the bourbon.

"Nope," I said.

*Huntress, another four thousand has been routed to your account.*

"Uh… so?"

"So what?" Five O'clock looked up distractedly from nursing his preferred poison.

"Nothing, guy," I said. "Enjoy your drink. Casey, get over here. I need to get something out of the back."

"Fine, got it, jeez."

Casey's voice was probably the most irritating noise known to man. Those little frogs in Puerto Rico had nothing on her.

I stomped to the storeroom, growling at a clumsy busboy foolish enough to get in my way. It had been a month since Barbara and I's last conversation, when I had gotten the advance four grand. I had been supposed to get the rest once the book had officially shipped with my Fido on the cover. This latest deposit made it for real - my space doggie was out there in the world, being gawked at, judged, criticized… poor baby.

I kicked the door shut behind me with one black booted heel. "What's the big deal, Oracle? Same thing happened last month, and we were having this same conversation."

*Well that was last month,* Barbara protested. *You didn't say anything about it being a regular transaction.*

"Hey," I bit, quite honestly disturbed by the Big Sister act, "what the fuck's going on? What are you doing monitoring my bank account anyways?"

*I'm not monitoring. I programmed Delphi to alert me to anything suspicious involving the name Helena Kyle. It noticed your name paired with a large sum of money and automatically notified me.*

"Shit," I muttered, suddenly ashamed of my outburst. "Jeez. I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to come out like that. It's just freaking me out a little." I sat on a crate of Mike's, twirling a strand of hair around my finger. I sighed. "Is all of that really necessary? Does Delphi really need to report to you on every little old thing involving little old me? I mean obviously if it's life or death, or one of those big things, but this little shit?"

*I can't program a computer to decide what's important and what's not, Huntress..."

"Anytime I'm actually getting money is a reason to celebrate, Oracle."

"If that's... I mean, right. You have my full apologies, Huntress. Future transactions will not be monitored."

"Well, I mean if it's like a gajillion dollars, then in that case, tell me."

*I'm sorry. I'll, ah… put a check on that. Although I don't think gajillion is a real number.*

"Thank you," I said.

*You know I err on the side of caution.*

I smiled. "I know."

*Mm.*

"So," I said, "I can live without the fear of you getting a Delphi alert every time I swipe my debit card at the naughty shop downtown?"

*God forbid I keep you from the naughty shop.*

"Anything new on our wannabe clock burglar, before I go?"

*No... that's been dead for awhile now, Huntress.*

The out of the blue attempted break in the previous month had so far been a bust. No fingerprints, hairs, footprints, or what have you. He – or she – had managed to avoid all the tower's cameras in his approach, except for the door cam, which when Barbara pulled the tape had been mysteriously blurry, effectively blocking any identification of the perpetrator.

"Damn. Alright, then I gotta get back to work. I left Casey all alone out there." I moved to close the phone.

*Wait,* Barbara said. *You're, uh… not going to tell me?*

"Tell you what?" I asked innocently, absently buffing my nails on a box of wine glasses.

*You know what. Where's the money coming from?* Her breathe was hitched with anticipation. Information was like meth to her. I wasn't kidding, you should see her lab.

*I know it's not Bruce.*

The Bat? Over my dead body.

"Hmm," I purred, fingering my earring. "You really wanna know, Oracle?"

*…Yes.*

"You really, really wanna know?"

*Yes… I really, really want to know, Huntress.*

"Mm… you know what? Hearing you so close to the edge, dying of curiosity… it's way too much fun to spoil it now. Maybe when we're in our, oh, say late seventies to early eighties, I'll let you in on the secret. I mean, if I remember. You know, Alzheimer's. It could happen. Then you'd just… never know," I finished sadly.

I swore I heard a faint growling from the other side of the comms. Truly a disturbing woman.

*You know that I could hack my way into finding out anything I needed to know about you. Don't you, Huntress?*

"Oh, but you wouldn't do that." I smirked. "Invading the privacy of your best buddy? Why, that would be a very naughty thing to do, don't you think?"

*I can be very naughty,* said Barbara.

My grin widened. The fact was, the more Barbara hunted for it, the less she would find. The more she failed to retrieve the information, the more frustrated she would become.

Frustrated Barbara was my third favorite kind.

"Fine. You know what? Naught away, Oracle. Do your magic to your geeky heart's content. See all that you can see. But let me let you in on something, and I'll be honest with you. I already know you can't find anything, because there's nothing to find. This isn't something you can crack with a computer."

*There is nothing I can't crack with a computer.*

"Of course you can," I soothed instantly, to her great annoyance I was sure. "I'm sorry. You're right. You can do anything."

*I think you severely underestimate my skills of subterfuge, investigation and espionage, Huntress.*

"Uh huh."

*You also seem to have forgotten the exact quantity of the cans of – ahem - whoopass I believe is the term - I have stocked in my pantry.*

"Would that be the same pantry you hide your Beanie Baby collection in? Right next to the whoopass?"

A low blow, I knew. But it was true. My lovable computer geek was also a lovable, closeted beanie dork.

*Fine. You want to taunt me, you accept the consequences.*

"You think you can figure it out?"

*Three days, I'll be able to tell you exactly where and who you got the money from and why.*

I mentally scoffed. "Is that so?"

*As long as you can agree that anything goes.* She paused. *No, I retract that statement. There has to be one rule.*

"What's that?"

*You do not touch Delphi.*

My head spun from the twists our conversation had taken… but Barbara was a whirlwind like that; it was to be expected. "Fine. Rule two, you don't go inside the naughty shop on eighth. It's off limits like Delphi."

*That's ridiculous! That's not mission essential.*

"Hey, you got a rule, I got a rule. Fair is fair."

There was a brief stretch of silence while Barbara considered.

*…Fine. Have it your way.*

There was nothing inside the naughty shop. This is what is referred to as _craftiness._ Besides, it would be hilarious to discover Barbara skulking outside it, looking for clues.

"Oh, and one more thing," I added. "For the both of us. No Dinah involvement."

*That's fine with me. She would be on your side anyways.*

"What? That girl is way too goodie two shoes to do anything of the sort. She'd be falling all over herself to help out the all powerful, all knowing Oracle."

*She would not!* Barbara exclaimed.

"Would too!"

*Would not!*

"Would too!"

*I'm going before I get a headache,* said Barbara darkly.

"Okay," I said. "I guess I'll talk to you later, Red."

*Three days, Huntress.*

Ooh. I loved that tone in her voice.

"You could have three million days, it wouldn't make a difference."

*Hmph. We shall see. Won't we?*

The buzzing crackle that accompanied comms emissions cut out. Immediately I whipped out my cell phone and dialed Gibson.

"_Helena!"_

"Gibson," I breathed, "whatever Barbara says to you, _do not_ I repeat do not tell her where you got the eight grand, why you got it or why you gave it to me. I don't paint. You have no idea where I could have gotten that money. The entire subject is mum. Got it?"

"_Uh…"_

"Good."

I snapped the cell shut. Gibson was my only electronic connection. His cousin's cousin's whatever had given him cash, trusting him to deposit it in his own account and transfer it to me as necessary. As long as Gibson kept quiet Barbara's biggest lead, the bank account, was a bust. Cash was the ultimate trail killer.

I strutted from the supply room with a fresh box of coasters, oblivious to Casey's whines about being overworked. I had no idea what I had just started, but I sure as hell was going to finish it. If I was good at anything, it was winning.

Mr. Five O'Clock waved at me and I lined up another double for him, trying to ignore the shiver dancing down my spine and around my hips.

_I can be very naughty._

Yeah. I just bet she could.

"Are you finished with the new register yet or what?" I asked Casey who was still (somehow) carefully counting out the quarters she had doled out into the change tray when I'd received the call from Barbara.

"Give me a minute." She glanced up at me suspiciously, noticing that I was kicking off my work shoes and replacing them with the high-top combat boots I wore on sweeps. "Where are you going?"

I rolled my eyes, slipping a leather vest over my blouse and reaching for my duster. "I have muffins to bake, sweetheart. I can't stay here all fucking night waiting for you to finish the abacus calculations or whatever the fuck is taking you so long. I'm out of here."

She chose not to respond, but I felt her mistrustful eyes follow me out the front door. Casey didn't seem to buy the muffin top business story for a second but somehow I couldn't manage to bring myself around to caring, although sometimes I wondered what hare-brained little theories she was coming up with. Drug dealing? Pole dancing?

I snorted back my laughter as I slipped into an alley across the street to immediately spot an older man being accosted by a gang of smelly young thugs and observe their greedy, swollen eyes turn onto my body. Pole dancing – if only.

I clenched my fists, allowing my eyes to fully dilate and catch the light.

"You can keep on looking, but it won't be necessary," I advised. "You're all about to become extremely well acquainted with my body."


	4. Chapter 4

_How can I make Kuzco lose the race? Oh I know. First I'll turn him into a hippopotamus. Then I'll put the hippo on a diet. Then I'll invite him to dinner. And then I'll feed him and feed him and feed him until he gets so big, he can't even move. It's brilliant, brilliant, brilliant!"_

_Yzma_

Well.

I rearranged my pen and pencil collection to the left side of my desk. I stared at it for two point four seconds before deciding to move it back to the right.

Well.

Helena Kyle thought she could keep a secret from the Oracle of New Gotham.

I placed the pencils on the left side and kept the pens on the right.

Helena Kyle was awfully full of herself.

Challenging me to spar or to a game of Scrabble or Monopoly was one thing. Questioning my authority was something I had learned to tolerate in our mission to safeguard New Gotham. Questioning my capabilities as a cyberhacker – the very ability I prided myself in and protected a city based upon – was a naked insult.

'Anything goes.'

Well.

I would live to see Helena regret the day she rued my mastery of the digital world.

The bell rang and two dozen teenagers scrambled to their feet. I collected their test sheets one by one as they filed out the classroom, mindlessly throwing each paper on top of the other, not bothering to see if they were upside down or backwards in the pile.

The drive home in the Hummer was a blur, my mind abuzz with possibilities.

I had spent the evening before exploring everything I could on the open net – as Helena had stated, I found nothing immediate to connect her eight grand to a source. The money had been cash dropped. The only trace the depositor had left was an indiscernible scribbled loop-de-loop of a signature on the deposit slip.

Of course the signature would be nigh useless - c'est la vie, after all. I had already pushed the initial apprehension of the obstacle aside and was looking forward to the satisfaction of cracking it. My fingertips inputted the tower code automatically, my mind whirring in anticipation of an afternoon of espionage.

The Delphi welcomed me home with a wink of its screensaver as I rolled from the elevator. I paused to listen to the creaky clock tower – unless someone was being particularly cat footed, I was alone. Excellent.

My fingers flitted over the keyboard. I quickly fired a probe into Sun Mutual's bank records searching for a match on the mysterious signature – riffing through the digital scans would take all night, even for a probe. After a moment's hesitation, I tabbed my secondary screen: Helena's phone company.

I had been debating with myself throughout the school day on the ethical ramifications, privacy concerns... and whether Helena had considered this when she agreed to the rule "anything goes."

"_Would that be the same pantry you hide your Beanie Baby collection in? Right next to the whoopass?"_

The vivid memory of Helena's taunting voice rang in my ears and I harrumphed to myself. Helena had dug her own grave, now it was time for her to lie in it.

I tapped the enter key, instantly embedding a digital recorder programmed to catch any calls connected to her cell or home phone.

With a click of my mouse I extracted her call records and expanded them to include the past three months. For some reason it pleased me to see that the greater half of her minutes were used to contact either my cell phone or the clock tower land line. Eleven percent were to or from the Dark Horse, understandably. Several other calls were traced back to... I typed in the unusual number... none other than the eidetically-minded, Helena-infatuated and very well connected metahuman Gibson Kafka.

Including one twenty second call mere moments after my conversation with Helena the previous day.

My left hand had flipped open my cell and dialed the number for No Man's Land before I realized it was moving.

"_No Man's Land Gift Shop, Gibson here."_

"Gibson," I purred, delighted to have reached him on the first try. "It's Barbara. You remember, Helena's friend? We met that one time at the bar?"

"_B-Barbara Gordon? Eep!"_

I frowned at the response. Surely I wasn't that intimidating? "Are you alright?"

"_Y-yes, fine. Always happy to hear from you, lovely, enchanting Barbara. Um, Helena's not here right now..."_

"I wanted to talk to you, actually. About some money that Helena's recently come into. Would you know –?"

"_I don't know anything about that!"_

Ah. So Helena had got to him first – the call I had noted must have been her warning him to keep mum. No matter.

"You can tell me anything, Gibson." I decided to go for maternally reassuring right off the bat; it always worked when Dinah was hiding something, after all. "I promise you Helena will never hear of it."

"_I know nothing! Eep! Stop that!"_

"What's going on?" I demanded before an irksome realization struck me. "Is Helena there?"

"_No!"_

"Gibson! Put her on the phone. Now."

A scuffle of static briefly ensued. I tapped my fingers impatiently.

A familiar breathless voice filled my ear.

"_Barbara. What a surprise. I just walked in..."_

"Save the crap for someone who'll buy it, Hel."

"_Barbara, attitude. Goodness. Apparently I'm not the only one here in need of anger management."_

"You had to bring Gibson into this."

"_Me? You were the one interrogating him! He's practically having a break down right now. Jeez, what did you do to him?"_

I fumed silently, unable to vent my frustration into words. Helena was cutting off my main lead, most likely abusing the young man's crush to get her own way. The five-year-old inside me was vehemently stomping her foot. No fair.

"_It's already been what, twenty four hours? You know, if you just want to give up now I won't hold it against you."_

"In your little kitty dreams," I hissed.

_Beepbeepbeep._

"Dammit, I have another call. We'll continue this later." I viciously stabbed the end call button, the speaker automatically switching to the second line. "What!"

"_Um... hi. Barbara? It's Wade. We were supposed to do dinner tonight?"_

A glance to my watch confirmed my horror.

I closed my eyes, heart sinking.

"Wade. I am so sorry. I got caught up with work, our website crashed, we lost all our orders..." I hacked my best friend's phone account, I silently added. "But that's no excuse."

It wasn't an excuse for lying either... but a straight up 'I forgot' seemed so much more sadistic than the imaginary hectic afternoon I had concocted for him.

I may have been a liar, but at least I wasn't a cruel one.

"_No... it's okay... I understand how things pile up. Just call me next time, okay?"_

"Wade..." I paused, struggling for words. "I'm not sure it's a good idea to have a next time. Look at how busy I am. To be honest, I'm starting to wonder if we can work."

If silence could talk, I could have guessed what it was saying.

"_...Barbara... of course we can work. What are you talking about?"_

"If you like, we can talk about it face to face tomorrow after class," I offered. It was the best I could do – the man deserved more than an over the phone break up, after all.

And I was breaking up with him, I told myself emphatically. Too much was too much. While Wade was absurdly okay with constantly being let down, I couldn't continue bearing the guilt of carrying on such a hollow relationship. It had been an ideal of mine once – having a husband, maybe a child, peacefully living in the suburbs. It was the idea of a normal life that a large part of me still longed for.

However I had recently concluded an even larger part of me, apparently, was more obsessed with things like programming and hacking, thwarting crime, taking care of Dinah, and most of all my enjoyably competitive interactions with Helena. There was no room left for a husband in that equation – even if it meant that that equation was a slightly lonely one.

I was never lonely with Helena, I discerned thoughtfully.

I rolled my eyes. God help me with that one.

"_I'll stop by your room during lunch."_

I tried to mask the dread in my voice. "Until then."

The evening passed uneventfully, Helena's cell phone remaining disappointingly inactive. Dinah retired early after an exhaustive day of testing, leaving me alone to contemplate my thoughts.

My sleep was restless that night. Upon waking, I could not remember exactly what I had dreamed, only that it had been bleak, muddy and wet.

Freshly showered yet still half asleep, I rolled blearily to the kitchen table where Dinah was munching on toast and jam. She graciously pushed a second plate toward me.

"I made extra for you."

I nodded in appreciation.

"Thank you."

A faintly recognizable brown-haired, blue-eyed blur flopped wearily into the chair beside Dinah.

"Hey none for me? Jeez. Tell me how you really feel, kid."

"Hel!"

My mouth tugged into a beaming smile after the sound of her sleepy mumble of acknowledgment. "What are you doing here? Not to mention what are you doing up so early?"

"I've been up all night, got called back to work... some shit at the bar... fucking Casey. She busted a knob off one of the taps, it sprayed off and knocked glass and shit everywhere. Fucking health department came over, had to inspect everything... unh. The whole building is shut down until they're done inspecting."

"Including your apartment above the bar?" I guessed, pouring myself a cup of coffee.

Helena lolled her head pitifully in folded arms.

"And she's been up here bugging me ever since," Dinah complained.

"Why don't you use my bed," I offered – her old room had long been commandeered by Dinah's presence in the clock tower.

"Your bed?" Helena seemed unusually fascinated at the prospect, until her face fell. "Nah, I gotta leave for an appointment in a bit, no point."

"Appointment?" I asked curiously.

"You know..." She arched a narrow eyebrow. "The court ordered anger management I have to go to because a certain redheaded school teacher -"

"That was _not_ my fault," I denied, draining my cup. "There were a million excuses you could have used to explain why you threw that perverted punk into the dumpster – like the truth, for one. 'He looked at me funny,' I'm afraid, was not even close to what I told you to say."

"Details, details. You and I both know the only reason I was down that alley in the first place was to collect that bogus evidence, which by the way never existed, for your ridiculous moth man theory."

Dinah's ears perked up. "What moth man theory?"

"It was not a 'moth man' theory, it was a legitimate hypothesis that simply did not pan out. Dinah, let's go. We're going to be late for school."

"Barbara," Helena called out after me. I swiveled my chair and raised an eyebrow as Dinah hurried to catch up with me. Helena was returning my raised eyebrow.

"Tick tock," she said, tapping her watch.

I tsked, shaking my head and ignoring Dinah's confused expression.

Helena would get hers, I told myself, as her earrings gleamed in the morning sun that was burning through the clock face.

I smiled darkly. Darkly and cheerfully.

Over the past twelve hours of fitful bouts of sleep and mongering, I had developed my plans beyond mere telephonic monitoring. An evil thought had wriggled sneakily into my brain sometime during the night, as such thoughts were wont to do.

What had I been doing monitoring the woman's phone calls? The very idea was so limited – so restricting - child's play to a hacker like me. Why catch snatches of her daily conversation when I could monitor her entire day?

Of course, if anything sounded personal I would immediately tune it out. I wasn't a pervert or nosy peeping tom. I had embarked on a quest for information... and nothing was more sacred than the pursuance of knowledge.

_**A/N:** Forgot to add suicide to the list of content warnings. Sorry! :) Also, a Canadian. Gasp!  
><em>


	5. Chapter 5

_**Kermit**: Well, Piggy, sometimes, the truth hurts._

_**Miss Piggy**: Hurt? I'll show you hurt, Kermie!_

"Damn it, Casey. Quit fucking up and maybe I can stop cleaning up your messes and actually get to bed on time for once. Four-eyed mouth-breathing -"

A grimy bar towel whipped towards my head. Only my metahuman reflexes saved me from a nasty facial squish.

"Shut your stupid face. It wasn't my fault, it could have happened to anyone – including you."

I sorely begged to differ. Casey had – yet again – caused a ridiculous amount of carnage in the space of about five minutes of being on shift – the five minutes I had been tallying the register before going home, of course – and was now seeing fit to believe that not only was it not her responsibility to clean up, it was not her duty to do much of anything but stand there whining about it.

"Look, get your shit together, start refilling those drinks. I'll get the mop and board and try to soak it up before the whole counter starts smelling like ass."

The unfortunate reeking odor was being caused by the remnants of the swill bucket, where we dumped the left over drinks and occasional wings or french fries (the front sink disposal and drainpipe having been still badly broken from Casey's last mishap), to be regularly disposed of and rinsed throughout the evening by the dishwasher, Mikey. Tonight Mikey had called called in sick.

Casey, in a fit of inspiration while struggling with the weighty object on her own to move it into the kitchen, had decided that setting the pail onto her shoulder would be a worthwhile strategy – rather than asking for my unholy assistance, of course. I had watched aghast in a truly 'oh fuck' moment as the blonde had slipped, tumbling backwards in slow motion, a brown wave of swill slow-mo slushing the faces of stunned late-night customers.

I shook my head and walked away, scooping up a basket of alcohol-soaked pretzels as I went.

Forty-five minutes later I was on what I referred to as victim duty wandering "helpless" around Gotham's most unsavory alleys in an attempt to lure out the city's grimy underbelly, an activity Barbara had me doing more and more now that the city's supervillain crime had all but disappeared. It was one of my least favorite activities, despite the fact that I kicked the most ass on those days. Eyes constantly watching me, undressing me. Hooting. Men grabbing their crotches.

Flattering, in a horrific kind of way.

Wasting no time, I made a beeline for the redlight district. The more drunken assgrabbers I strung up, the less drunken assgrabbing New Gotham's ladies of the night would have to endure.

The closer I got to downtown the more frequent it became to see bodies slumped to the side, smelling of booze and sounding distinctly worse for wear in the coherency department, but of course that wasn't a crime. I smiled at them and moved on.

"You are so, so so fucking like _damn._"

I almost – almost – felt complimented.

_Leave me alone,_ I mentally encouraged him. _Go fall over somewhere like your buddies._

He didn't step away though, he stepped closer - running shaking hands through greasy hair. I caught a whiff of his breath and realized it was alcohol-free.

"We should, ah damn, you are so... C'mere baby, lemme..."

He sidled up to me cozily, reaching one arm around my shoulders.

Time to work.

"No I do not wish to have sex with you. Please, oh please don't hurt me because I rejected your advances."

*You sound so hopeful when you say that,* sighed Barbara dramatically over comms.

The grip on my shoulder tightened uncomfortably. He shuffled closer, nuzzling my ear.

Hopeful? More like resigned.

"Leave me alone, buddy."

I shoved him away, granting him a chance to take the hint and scram. He would have been the first in my long, illustrious career as 'victim' to ever back off after unfacilitated tactile contact (Oracle's term, not mine), but everyone got a chance. At least that was Oracle's rule.

He chose not to break that record.

He shoved me – hard. Had I been any other woman, I would have been reeling backwards into a pile of trash bags and jagged pipe cuttings.

I kicked his shin and snapped it in two.

He screamed.

*God, Huntress, what did you do? Should I call an ambulance?*

Impassive, I scuffed off a spatter of blood on my calf with my heel. "Yeah, you'd better."

Judging from the red shot-out look to his eyes, a hospital stay would help him a shit ton more than I could.

He writhed on the ground, banging his head on the pavement and clutching his leg. Something plastic caught my eye.

"My my my, what have we here?"

I tugged the miniscule plastic baggy out of his back pocket. Mewling, he ignored me.

I carefully broke the seal, sniffing delicately at the white powder. Not that I didn't already know what it was.

"Why don't I hold on to this for you?" I suggested to him.

He moaned, then passed out.

It was well over an hour before I was able to slink wearily into my darkened apartment, kicking off my shoes and stripping down to my underwear before collapsing into my unmade bed. I sighed, exhaling in an expression of ultimate prolonged relief.

My eyes drifted to the digital alarm clock on the nightstand. 2:34 AM. It didn't take long for me to sink into a warm, cuddly pocket of blankets, drifting further and further into relaxed oblivion. The memories of the morning washed over me. The pleasure of breakfast with Barbara and Dinah. The irritation of dealing with the aggravatingly intuitive Dr. Quinzel, my therapist for anger management.

"_Why on earth would I say sorry to that punk?"_

"_Amends aren't about saying you're sorry; they're about restoring justice to a person you've hurt."_

_Hurt. Yeah, that jerk was hurt alright. I wished I'd hurt him more._

"_Why do you think you got mad at Tony?"_

"_I told you, he ruined my drink."_

"_Why did you throw your glass at him? Why not just ask him to buy you another one?" Dr. Quinzel's luminous bug-like eyes were wide and bright. She seemed genuinely baffled by my lack of social nuance. _

_I crossed my arms. "I didn't want another drink. I wanted him to learn to keep his gum in his mouth."_

"_You were teaching him a lesson?"_

_I shrugged. "You could put it that way."_

_Tony was a greasy off-duty cab driver who had lamely tried to strike up a conversation with me the previous night. At first I had humored him admiring his bravery. But his annoying gum smacking habit had put me off._

"_Were you still angry when you left?"_

_My desire to take the easy way out warred with my innate detestation of lying._

"_Yes," I finally answered honestly, if not bitterly. "I was still upset because I had to pay for the glass. And he got all whiny about the cut on his cheek, like his face was that fucking pretty in the first place. And then someone at work busted some glass when she caught sight of the blood, and the health department found asbestos, and my apartment building was quarantined... et cetera blah blah et cetera. I already told you – the whole night was a fucking disaster."_

"_Were you still angry when you went to bed?"_

"_I didn't go to bed," I sighed miserably. "I went over to Barbara's for breakfast, then I came here."_

"_How unfortunate," Dr. Quinzel commented annoyingly. "Considering the train of events that followed, given the chance, would you do it again?"_

"_What, throw the glass? Of course, totally. Harder, even. If I knew I was going to suffer that much for it, I might as well have put my shoulder into it. He had it coming." _

_I observed her eyes track slightly to the left. She made an indefinable noise, scribbling a note on her clipboard. "Tell me what would happen if your friend Barbara accidentally dropped her gum in your drink. Do you think you would smash her face in with it, like you did Tony?"_

"_I would never hurt Barbara."_

_A blonde eyebrow drew upwards. "Oh? Why is Tony worthy of pain, while Barbara is immune?"_

"_I know that Barbara isn't an idiot. Tony reeked of stupid. He had it coming."_

_The Doctor set aside her clipboard, folding her hands in her lap. "Here's what I think, Helena. I think no matter what had happened last night, you would have found some way to hurt Tony. You did not like Tony. Something about him sparked your ire – I don't know what, and I'd bet you don't either. You were compelled to find a way to translate your emotions into action. You threw the glass." She paused, waiting for a response._

_I couldn't muster the vocabulary to give her one. I didn't want to think that I would have hurt Tony over nothing. But now that I thought about it something had seemed off about him from the get go. Something had set _me_ off at the get go. What could it have been?_

_Dr. Quinzel seemed to take my silence for confirmation. "That is your anger dictating your actions for you. That's a dangerous pattern to fall into, Helena."_

My eyes snapped open. The night wind leaking through the balcony door overpowered my sensitive nose with the crude, raw scent of body odor. A gruff male voice was assaulting my ears, pulling me from lulling, oh-so-comfy unconsciousness. I squinted one eye at the clock. 3:31 AM.

"Are you retarded? Were you born a fuck up? Is that your excuse?"

I stumbled to the balcony door, sliding it open a crack to view the side alley parking lot. An older bearded man was pacing beside a still-running Camry, gesturing heatedly at a smaller blonde figure who had her hands stuffed into her pockets, head lowered.

"Are you going to answer me? What? Can you talk? Hello?"

I frowned, internally debating on whether I should go back to bed and mind my own business. WWBD - what would Barbara do?

"Don't tell me you're mute now? If your mother were still alive, you know what she would say?"

"Just go," the blonde muttered. I was startled to recognize the voice as belonging to Casey. "I'll find my own ride home."

"You're damn right you're gonna find your own ride home." A meaty hand raised. "I don't allow idiots the -"

The man with the mustache found himself suddenly unable to talk – understandable, considering that I had just sledgehammered my fist into the side of his bristly, smelly jaw.

My stomach fluttered in satisfaction at the _crack_ as I felt bone give way to my knuckles – I judged it to be a fracture.

The heavyset man reeled backwards, falling onto the hood of his car. An irksome, pathetic grunt issued from his fat, hairy lips. I punched them too. "Shut the fuck up!"

He slumped over the car, unconscious.

"Helena!" Casey was covering her mouth in shock. "I can't believe – oh my god. Where did you come from? Is he okay?"

"He's fine." I attempted to shake the smell of him off my hand, in vain. "Needs a bath, maybe. What a jerk. Are you okay?"

"Yeah – um, oh man, I can't – holy _crap_ I can't believe you did that."

"What was going on? Who was that guy?"

Her cheeks colored rosily. "Uh, my dad. He was giving me a ride. Um, maybe I should..." She ducked hastily inside the driver's side, shifting the gear into park and turning off the key.

Casey fumbled with the key in her palm nervously.

I stared at her.

She stared back.

Finally she gave a tentative shrug. "I'll put them in his pocket, I guess?"

I observed her delicately tuck the key chain into his jacket.

I had been about to offer to drag him bodily into the back seat, but if she was content with abandoning him lying on top of his car in a dirty back alley, then so was I.

"You live with your parents?" I hazarded, deciding to avoid the elephant in the alley.

Blue eyes wandered everywhere but in my direction. Pheromones pumped from her body like perfume: the sickly sour stench of shame. "You shouldn't have done that. I could have handled him."

"Right," I said doubtfully. It had looked more like an overgrown bully kicking a helpless crying puppy to me.

"Really," she added insistently, looking at the same time indignant and humiliated. "Normally I tell him off, but I'm kind of crashing at home right now, so..." She trailed off scuffing a shoe on the sidewalk.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," I said, even though I didn't.

"Do you think, um... Actually, I think I'm going to go up to Leonard's office and call a cab."

I shrugged helplessly, suddenly regretting the lack of forethought in my impromptu rescue. "I'd give you a ride, but I don't have a car. All I got is a bike, and I don't keep around a spare helmet."

Dr. Quinzel's vexatious tone echoed in my ears. _"Amends aren't about saying you're sorry; they're about restoring justice to a person you've hurt."_

"Listen, I know you could have handled it and all, it wasn't about that," I said, trying my best to smooth the awkward situation over. "I just wanted to say sorry for being such a dick earlier. I wasn't really mad at you, I was just tired and cranky. My anger management therapist says I have a psychological addiction to translating my emotions into actions – or um... something like that."

I felt my cheeks pinken as her stare bore into me.

"You could sleep over at my place, if you want," I said.

"Oh no, don't be ridiculous. I'll catch a cab, it's no big deal."

"Nah, it would help me actually. I sort of have this list of people I'm supposed to make amends to. I would get to cross you off."

I threw her a winning smile and she finally met my gaze.

"You can cross me off already, I think. Rushing out into the cold in your underwear..."

I looked down at myself, then clamped my hands over my suddenly freezing bra-covered breasts. "Oh, um... yeah..." Maybe that explained the lack of eye contact. "Seriously though, it's cool. My couch is your couch. Wouldn't it be awkward to show up at home without your dad? No one would have a problem with that?"

She ruffled her short blonde hair nervously, bespectacled eyes glancing back at the slumped form of her father over the hood of the car. "I think it's going to be awkward whenever I end up getting home."

I bit my tongue, wondering how far I should push this.

Like Dr. Quinzel had told me the morning before, something had immediately bothered me about the situation I had witnessed beneath my balcony window. Only this time I could readily identify the agitation.

Harleen's whiny voice once again presented itself, but I had beat her to the question. Why was it okay for me to call Casey a fuck up, but not okay for her greasy father to do the same?

The answer was glaring: Casey stood up to me. Yet beneath the maliciously mocking eyes of her father, she hadn't seemed able to muster up the will to contradict him. She hadn't stood up for herself.

That bothered me.

That bothered me a fuck ton.

"Tomorrow I can borrow my friend's hummer and I'll drive you home myself," I proposed.

She sceptically adjusted her cock-eyed glasses. "You have no idea how weird it is to hear this coming from you."

"Yeah well it's weird listening to myself say it. C'mon, we gotta climb up the fire escape. I climbed out the balcony without my door keys."

"Smooth thinking, dumbass."


	6. Chapter 6

_Do you know why you're not afraid to die, Spock? You're more afraid of living. Each day you stay alive is just one more day you might slip and let your human half peek out. That's it, isn't it? Insecurity. Why, you wouldn't know what to do with a genuine, warm, decent feeling . ._

_Dr. Leonard McCoy_

I blinked, squinting my eyes at the hazy computer screen. I had dragged myself from bed to the Delphi's monitoring station at around half past three when my phone had buzzed to signal that Helena's noise levels were indicative of wakefulness. Jesus, I had thought to myself while scrounging around for a housecoat. Did the woman ever sleep?

*Here are the sheets. Um, I gotta find the other pillow...*

I listened idly to the chatter between Helena and her nemesis-turned-BFF Casey, whom Helena had referred to under her breath only hours earlier as an airheaded ferret-minded bimbo with chicken nuggets for brains during the aftermath of the "grog" incident.

*Let me cross this off...*

*Oh wow,* Casey hesitantly giggled, *you really do have a list. I thought you were joking.*

Was I on the list? I wondered.

I leaned back, tuning out the stiff conversation and allowing my heavy eyes to fall shut. My inner curiosity debated hotly with my incredibly drowsy body – I had a feeling my body was winning by the forward tilt of my head. This whole ridiculous competition was pointless. Helena had deliberately taunted me by hurting my pride, and I had fallen for it like an egg from a tall chicken. I should never have asked about the money in the first place...

*Oh, wow!* Casey's surprised gasp yanked at my attention.

*Shit,* Helena muttered crossly and all traces of fatigue miraculously vanished from my bones. *I forgot to shut the door. Just my way of making a little money on the side. I don't, um...*

*No no, it's cool. I won't tell anyone,* Casey replied quickly.

*I'd appreciate it. People ask questions sometimes, you know?*

*Yeah, yeah, no problem.*

The answer was there, in Helena's apartment.

I had to find a way to sneak inside.

I donned the wireless headset and listened to Helena's movements as I moved quietly around the clock tower, having decided to stay up and get an early start to my day. I listened to her breathing as she curled into her own bed and drifted into sleep while I was preparing the coffee pot. I listened to her sniff and roll over as I buttered my toast. I listened to her shift and murmur as I changed from my nightgown into day clothes.

Dinah was sleeping over at a friend's house. The clock tower was eerily open and airy. Silent except for Helena's breath in my ear.

Not that I was lonely or anything. I just liked having the sounds of life around me.

I had left Wade Friday morning.

I hadn't expected the separation to impact me, but lunch that afternoon had been the first one I had spent alone in months. I had eaten an apple and a turkey sandwich at my desk. The barren classroom had felt as empty as the clock tower was now.

At around seven o'clock in the morning my cellphone buzzed, alerting me to a text message: muffin top shipment arrived. The phone listed the sender as Helena. That was a lie. The real sender was Delphi, alerting me in code that the results of my signature analysis were in. I wheeled to the keyboard, tossed off the wireless headset and entered in the code to bring Delphi into full interface mode.

The file had pinged a signature match with Sun Mutual customer... Gibson Kafka.

"Ah hah," I crowed to myself, then peered around self-consciously to make sure no one had heard me. No. The clock tower was empty. I had forgotten that fact with Helena's breathe in my ear all night.

I quickly hacked into his transaction history. My dear Helena's associate had received two payments of four thousand dollars over the past months, wired directly from one Toby Mackelle. A Google of his name showed that he was an editor for a small time New York press company, but nothing more. The name tickled my brain somewhere, though. There was a piece of the picture I was missing. I was struggling to root through years of eidetic memory when Delphi's speakers crackled to life, making me jump.

*Hello? Oracle, come in. Yo.*

"Huntress?" I asked, surprised. "It's a little early for you to be up, isn't it?"

*Eh, some shit went down at the bar last night that I have to deal with,* Helena replied wearily. *Figured you'd still be plucking away at Delphi, though.*

"Hmph," I responded, not able to think of a good comeback for that. It was the truth, after all.

*So anyways, I have good news and bad news, and then a favor to ask. So which do you want first?*

"Hm. Choices, choices." I bit my lip, resting my chin on a closed fist. "Bad news first, get it over with."

*Well, the bad news is that I'm entering a loveless marriage in order to support the eight kids I've already given birth to out of wedlock,* Helena reported blandly.

"Oh my," I said, feigning surprise. "That is bad news. What's the good news?"

*Oh, they're producing a Lifetime original made-for-TV movie out of it.*

"Cool," I commented drolly, privately wondering where this was going but more than willing to play along. "Who's playing you?"

*Tori Spelling,* she answered sleekly. *You're Melissa Gilbert.*

"Oh." I smoothed out my shirt, pleased. "She's hot."

*Not as hot as you.* The casual certainty in Helena's voice made me straighten ever-so-slightly in my chair. That was one thing I loved about Helena – somehow she always made me feel pretty.

"So what's the favor?" I asked, by now more than curious.

*Well, I need to take my eight kids to school, but they can't all fit onto the Ninja. So could I borrow the Hummer?*

"Hm," I murmured thoughtfully. "I guess if it's for the kids' sake..."

*Sweet! Thank you! I promise to name the ninth one after you.*

"Ninth?" I cringed. The world was barely surviving with just one Helena running around in it.

*Yeah. So I'll swing buy in ten and pick it up?*

"As long as you have it back before eight. Actually," I amended craftily, "it would be easier for me to drive it over and wait until you're done with it, then take off as soon as you get back. I have a doctor's appointment that I really shouldn't miss."

*Oh, um... okay.*

Helena sounded uncertain, but I knew she would never get between me and a doctor. I already avoided the hospital like the plague, and she considered it a minor miracle that I agreed to yearly check-ups in the first place, much less showed up to them.

"See you soon." I switched off the connection just as I heard the elevator rumbling up.

The thick metal doors hadn't opened further than six inches apart when a small can-shaped object sailed through the air. Before I had time to blink or even finish registering the word 'grenade,' thick yellow smoke had begun pouring out of the canister.

I gasped involuntarily, inhaling what felt like an enormous amount of acrid smoke and dust into my lungs. My eyes teared as I fumbled for the comms switch.

"He... Hel..." I coughed violently, breathing in an ashy mouthful of fumes. "Hel..."

_Helena._ It seemed imperative for me to say it before I blacked out. The whole name – as if by saying her name, Helena would appear out of nowhere and save me. As if the name itself were magic.

I suddenly remembered from where I knew the name Toby Mackelle. He edited the _Spacemaestro_ book series. Bizarre, what your mind thinks of when you're passing out from lack of oxygen.

_Helena..._

Darkness overcame me...


	7. Chapter 7

_True love makes the thought of death frequent, easy, without terrors; it merely becomes the standard of comparison, the price one would pay for many things._

_Stendhal_

I closed my cellphone shoving it into my front pants pocket.

"Okay," I said to Casey, "my friend's coming over with her hummer right now. We bust into your house while everyone's at work, grab your stuff, get out, and I beat up anyone who tries to get in our way. Sound good?"

"Perfect." The blonde beamed at me. "Although there shouldn't be any 'busting' required. I have a key you know."

I heaved an aggrieved sigh. "Jeez... take the fun out of everything, why don't you?"

Casey's father and shitty Camry had vanished by the time I checked up on them at around six that morning. Casey'd informed me his workshift at the steel mill started at seven; upon rousing he had probably beat feet back home to get ready. It angered me that he hadn't even bothered searching around for his missing daughter or reporting the incident to the police (Barbara would have commed me) but Casey didn't seem the slightest bit surprised.

That sad fact stirred my anger even more.

A soft hand made contact with my tank-top exposed shoulder.

"Do you mind if I smoke on the balcony?"

I managed a distracted shrug. "Do whatever you want."

Distracted because there was someone breathing heavily outside the front door.

I slyly observed Casey slipping through the sliding glass door to the balcony and waited until she was seated on the Adirondack chair, facing out and digging through her purse for a lighter before I casually drifted to the front door, unlatching the bolt and tugging it open in one swift motion.

"Mr. Haynes."

I smiled sweetly.

His eyes bulged comically as I grabbed him by the throat and dug my nails into the toady pouch of fat wobbling under his chin. I smirked as his beefy, sweaty fingers tugged futily against my grip.

His right foot lashed out, impacting my shin with laughable force. I struck my heel sharply against his shin, returning the favor. A satisfying _crack_ caressed my inner ears and I fought the instinct to allow my feral side control.

"Aw, Mr. Haynes," I tsked sadly while surreptitiously maintaining an eye on the balcony, where Casey was still taking drags. "First your jaw, now your leg. Your neck'll be next if you keep this up."

I tightened my squeeze around his throat, thrusting my shoulder and jutting my palm against his adam's apple. Tight grunts were issuing from his bruised lips and it occurred to me he was trying to speak.

I loosened my grip one iota.

"...call the cops and report you, you think you can -"

Ugh – I cut off his air supply to stymy the flow of shit spewing from his mouth. I hated threats with no style. Maybe I should give him an example of how it's done.

"Here's a threat for you, padre. If I ever so much as see your sweaty face poking around here or anywhere around Casey again, I'll slit your fucking throat. I'll hang you upside down and let you bleed out like a pig, then I'll cover your disgusting body in cement and dump you in the bay. They'll be dredging up your statue a hundred years from now, there'll be some two minute scientific interest piece on the local news and that'll be the last anyone ever thinks of you."

I dropped him and he wheezingly collapsed in the hallway with a _thunk_. I must've unconsciously lifted him while speaking... or perhaps his body had fallen limp from lack of air a ways back and I hadn't noticed.

"Don't make the mistake of taking that as a bluff," I warned him solemnly. His glassy eyes stared up at me as he clutched at his throat, gasping to recover his breath. They were the exact same shade of cerulean blue that Casey's were. On Casey however they were earnest, honest, fiery – beautiful – whether they were hidden behind glasses or not. Yet somehow on him, the color was unspeakably ugly.

"I will kill you," I promised.

"Helena? Is someone at the door?"

"Wrong address," I hollered, tugging the handle and closing the door on his expressionless face. I twisted the bolt shut and slid the latch into place before meeting Casey out on the balcony.

"UPS with the wrong building number," I reported shrugging, slipping through the sliding glass door to join her.

I shook my head, declining her offer of a cigarette as I leaned wearily on the railing.

Memories of Barbara's voice echoed in my ears from words she had repeated time and time again.

_'It makes you less.'_

Killing, that was.

Barbara was of the fervent belief that the horror of taking someone's life destroyed you forever.

I knew why she believed that, too. Because for her, it was true. Barbara's soul was too decent, too human, too _good_ not to be severely affected by the mere idea of taking a fellow human being's soul - no matter how corrupted or vile the owner. People like her and Dinah and my father, they were all like that. In fact it was the consequence Batman had feared the most when he first became a vigilante, according to Barbara: when the inevitable occurred and the Bat actually accidentally ended the life of some two-bit punk, it had crushed him.

And in being a good person and my staunch advocate and friend, Barbara believed the same of me.

True, I had restrained myself from killing Clayface. It was selfish of me, I admit – it would have been better for me to snap his neck right then and there. The fact was, if Batman had killed him before – Hell, if Batman had killed the Joker before – my mother would still be alive.

But Barbara couldn't have handled it. She couldn't have dealt with me taking care of him... so I didn't. I did her proud like a good little superhero and handed him over to the authorities, to reenter the penal system for him to plot and connive his way out of prison once more, possibly taking more lives in the process.

Future lives that I sacrificed for Barbara's sake. It might sound callous, but I hadn't quite cared enough about those nameless, faceless future lives to push my very Star Trek-y 'sacrifice one to save the many' logic that night.

Barbara's mental well-being had mattered more. Even indirectly, the loss of life under her flag of command would have been enough to wound her like a knife in her gut.

I had seen her wounded before, when the Joker'd taken away everything she'd ever lived for. I wasn't about to let that happen again, now or ever.

Barbara – she was family. Protecting my family came before anything – I didn't know if that was something derived from my meta genes or a developed complex or a combination of both – but family and _protect_ meant practically the same thing in my mind.

Barbara and Dinah were heroes. They always would be. It was part of the reason I loved them; their intense sense of justice and human compassion defined them, defined what they were willing to sacrifice in the name of... whatever.

It was family that defined me. Family defined everything.

And fuck my life but my family was a motherfucking family of heroes. I just had to fucking deal with it.

"I haven't seen any baking equipment around here," said Casey suddenly.

"What?" I started. "Oh yeah, that shit's all at Barbara's. She's my business partner, she runs the internet side of shit. She's the one coming over with the hummer."

She squinted up at me sceptically, taking a final pull out of her snub of a cigarette. The act seemed unnatural to my eyes - I wouldn't have taken her for a smoker had I been asked before. "Those paintings I saw last night were astonishing. I bet they'd go for a lot in a gallery somewhere."

My paintings were something that no one had ever seen, something that no one had ever judged like they judged my hair or my clothes or lifestyle. I had been worried the art would lose that sacred value upon being de-virgined by foreign eyes, but thankfully that hadn't occurred with Casey.

"Yeah well," I sighed, scratching the back of my neck abashedly. "I think I like them a lot more than any old art collector would like them. Besides my mom had a thing for hoarding art; I think maybe I inherited it."

"Are you kidding?" she exclaimed incredulously. "They're incredible, Helena. Those belong in a museum where people can admire them, not stuffed in a locked room gathering dust."

I snorted back my laughter while something pleasant tugged at the oft-neglected happy center of my brain. "You sound just like my mom. Or Indiana Jones, I can't decide."

She giggled and ran a hand through wavy blonde hair. I notice for the first time the thick textbook open in her lap.

"You, uh, studying?"

She smiled shyly at me. "For the MCAT. I'm taking it in a couple of months after I graduate. My major is in chemistry but my main interest is in med research, especially microbiology and genetics studies – so, yeah." She cut herself off, cheeks pinkening delicately. Her words had sparked my interest, though.

"What kind of genetic stuff?"

"Genetic mutations are probably the most fascinating thing I've studied. I'd like to be involved in research of what exactly causes them to mutate and how, which not a lot of people are doing. Everyone's gone so crazy over gene therapy that no one seems to care –" She caught herself again, although the redness in her face now seemed to be more from indignance than embarrassment, which made me smile.

"I'm assuming you're not talking about the X-Men."

She tittered amusedly and her eyes flashed away from me. "More like mutations for breast cancer and cystic fibrosis. Nothing that interesting, sorry."

I sighed dramatically as I cracked the sliding glass door to exit the balcony. "Another woman in my life ten thousand times smarter than I'll ever be. Great, just great."

First Barbara, then Dinah, and now this. It was starting to get embarrassing. I didn't miss the flash of pleasant surprise in her eyes upon the compliment and it made it sting a little bit more. Not about the fact that I was about as educated as my refrigerator, that was an accepted given. The sting had been from the constant looks of surprise that had manifested throughout the day when I did simple things like lend her night clothes or share my cereal with her, or compliment her shoes or show the slightest interest in anything she had to say.

It made me feel like a horrible human being. Every shocked flash of her eyes piled onto the massive mountain of shame that had accumulated ever since hearing my own insults emitting from her father's mouth the previous night.

Don't get me wrong, I didn't do pity, not by a long shot, but something very Barbara-like inside me was wriggling in a flood of guilt.

It would have been easier if she had been the all around hair-brained bimbo I'd made her out to be, but it was all the worse because she was turning out to be exactly the opposite: intelligent, quirky, willful...

Although in all fairness she had told me more times than I could count to 'shut my stupid face,' 'stick it up my ass,' 'go choke on a dick' and any number of creative variations thereof.

My eyes fell on the list taped to the fridge, the one with Casey's name crossed out on the bottom. Dr. Quinzel had helped me make it – people I had to make up to for being, well, a dick. Remaining were Barbara, Dinah and the guy who had fixed my toilet last month whom I'd yelled at and thrown mayonnaise at when I caught him checking out my ass. It had took some convincing on Dr. Quinzel's part to add that last one, but she finally convinced me by commenting that if the plumber had been hot I would have checked out his ass too. True that.

I adamantly refused to add the gum-smacking cab driver, though.

That guy was a jerk.


	8. Chapter 8

_Sins become more subtle as you grow older: you commit sins of despair rather than lust._

_Piers Paul Read_

"Barbara."

A familiar breathe touched my ears. I snuggled closer to the source of warmth, pulling the blanket over our shoulders. Content, I lowered my head to rub my cheek against a soft breast. Helena's breast. A lithe arm wrapped around me, pulling me closer. I reveled in the feeling of companionship. Friendship. Love.

"Barbara."

There was no loneliness here. No emptiness.

"C'mon, wake up. Please, Barbara"

The clock tower wasn't empty anymore.

I coughed and blinked. The pleasant surroundings faded as I hacked and wheezed my way into consciousness.

I felt myself being lifted into the air. I moaned at the sudden change in altitude. I hated it when Helena did that.

"Hey," I complained, "don't do that."

My head lolled comfortably on her shoulder. Her mouth moved against my hair as she spoke. "Just taking you to the car."

"Don't wanna go to the car," I moaned. "Stay here."

"We have to get you to a hospital, Red," she responded softly. I heard Dinah tittering as the elevator doors closed around us. The echo made my head hurt.

"No." I shook my head, keeping my eyes closed. "Knockout gas. No big deal. I'm fine. Stop moving so fast, I'm gonna throw up."

"I'm not moving, Barbara, the elevator's moving. Please don't puke on me."

I did.

"Sorry," I apologized as Helena shifted me in her arms so that my head rested on her other, vomit-free shoulder.

"It's okay," she soothed in that special silky tone she reserved just for me, that told me she really was okay with me barfing tuna omelet all over her favorite jacket. "Can you tell us what happened?"

"Elevator opened. Smoke grenade rolled in. Gas filled up everywhere," I explained with my eyes closed, trying to fight off the feeling of dizziness inside. "I tried to comm you, I couldn't find the switch with all the smoke..."

"Well you found it at some point," said Helena as she strutted quickly to the Hummer, not bothering with a chair by merely strapping me into the passenger seat. I was much too nauseous to protest. "I heard you calling me on comms, but when I called back you didn't answer. Met Dinah on the way up, she heard you too. We found you out cold at your desk, the lab was trashed. Someone was searching for something. No way to tell what's missing yet. Nothing we can do about it now."

"How fast did you get here?"

Helena shrugged as she put the massive vehicle into reverse. "Six or seven minutes. I thought I heard someone moving in the alley across the street, but I thought you were injured, or hurt, or whatever, so..."

"I understand." I smiled at her, then frowned as Helena eased the car into traffic. "Where are we going? I told you, I'm fine, I don't need a doctor."

"We have to stay over at Helena's tonight," Dinah piped in from the backseat. "Delphi is on that twenty-four hour lockdown thing, remember? Everything locked behind us when we left."

"Oh, shit," I moaned, noticing my partner's grimace. "I'm sorry, Hel. I must have hit the emergency button when I was feeling for the comm switch."

"This doesn't have to be a bad thing," said Dinah enthusiastically. "We can rent movies, order out, stay up late... It'll be like a sleepover. Fun!"

"Fun," said Helena. "Yeah. Super fun."

"We could rent a hotel room," I told her quietly while she glanced sideways at me. "I mean, if you like. I know Casey's staying with you."

She raised a thin brown eyebrow at me. "You do?" Then she bit her lip, raising the second in an expression of surprise. "She is?"

I gave her a serious look, or as serious as I could manage considering I could barely keep my head up straight. "You're not actually considering letting her stay with that prick father of hers, are you?"

Her mouth opened, then closed. She shook her head in astonishment. "I'm not even going to ask how you knew that. But yeah, I'm gonna ask her."

I nodded. "Good."

"Who's Casey?" asked Dinah curiously.

"Oh, Helena never told you?" I turned around in my seat. "She's never mentioned her kids to you?"

Teenage blue eyes bugged out. "Oh my god, no way!"

"Yeah." Helena nodded solemnly in confirmation as she casually flicked on her left turning signal. "She's my youngest. Usually we call her Casey, but her real name is Barbara Junior."

Dinah lapsed into shocked silence and Helena and I exchanged private, if mine was a bit woozy, grins.

Eventually the motion of the Hummer and the soft rumble of the engine lulled me back into unconsciousness, despite that I knew it to be only a ten minute drive to the Dark Horse.

Darkness...

I awoke to a disturbing, electrifying screech.

"_Frodo! Jump Frodo, jump!"_

A second otherworldly scream pierced the sensitive area behind my eyes.

"Nnn..." I covered my ears, grumbling.

"Barbara? Helena, I think she's waking up."

My head lolled at the sound of Dinah's voice. My cheek rubbed against something cool and silky. My eyes fluttered open as I heard a door open and close. I looked down to see my body sprawled across black silk sheets, wrapped lightly in a thin comforter in what must have been Helena's bedroom.

"Look who's finally up. Good evening, sunshine." A grinning Helena traipsed into my field of view, energetically tugging burgundy curtains open to beckon inside the burnished gold rays of the setting sun.

"I can't believe the tower was compromised," I eventually said.

"I know." She scooted onto the bed and curled next to me like a cat, wrapping her legs under herself while sidling up against my blanket-wrapped torso.

"How did he get in?"

"No idea, the clock tower's still locked down. Tomorrow we'll be able to get in there and, you know... check things out, I guess."

"Do we know what he took?"

"Nope. Not yet."

I lapsed into silence. Someone out there knew something about our identities. Someone knew enough to get past the clock tower's ironclad security measures. Was the clock tower even safe anymore? Were we safe?

I needed action. I needed research. I needed – something. But I had nothing, having left the portable Delphi-connected laptop inside the clock tower, so I had to settle instead with eating from a bowl of mini-snickers and watching _The Lord of the Rings_ on the couch with Helena, Dinah and the blonde-haired, glasses-wearing Casey, whom I had never met before in person.

Robbed of my immediate need to satisfy my sense of indignant outrage, I nearly forgot about the second challenger to my authority whom I had been dealing with. By challenger to my authority, of course I meant Helena.

Funny how intruders, smoke grenades, everything fell away at the word 'Helena.'

I ambushed her on her way to the refrigerator, which she had sauntered towards presumably to find something to refill the Dinah-devastated snack bowl in the living room.

"I win," I informed her as she adjusted her banana stand to reach a far-placed box of star crunchies.

"What?" she replied distractedly.

"Toby Mackelle. There are twenty-two minutes left. I win."

"Oh yeah?" she said, crossing her arms and smirking, although looking nonetheless surprised. "Why'd he give it to me?"

"That wasn't a part of the deal," I replied smoothly. "I said I could find out where you got the money from and I did. I repeat, I win."

Her smirk gave way to an eye roll. "Fine. You win." My chest puffed in triumph. "But it wasn't really about winning was it? It was about knowing_._ And you _don't_ know, do you Barbara? Nope. That's what I thought."

"I win, I win, I win. I don't care. What do I win?"

The brunette drew close to me, leaning on both armrests of my chair. "Whatever you want, Red," she purred.

I nearly purred myself, more than satisfied with my victory. "Good. I'll let you know when I'm calling it in." I wheeled away from her dominating aura, snagging the box of crunchies as I went.

"You still don't know," she called after me.

"Well you sure as hell didn't write _Spacemaestro._"

"Hey, I might've."

"I know that whatever it is, it's locked up in your spare bedroom right now."

Blue eyes stared at me, suddenly uncertain.

"I didn't want to go in there if you really didn't want me to know," I explained. It was a revelation I had had after waking safely in her arms earlier in the day – friendship, I mean. Above anything else, we were best friends, competition or no. Helena may have been the muscle in our crime-fighting relationship, but emotionally I still looked out for her. I still protected her.

She made a study of her nails, remaining quiet for a long time.

"Let me know when you want that favor," she finally said.

Later that evening, as Helena and I prepared to share her bed for the night, I thanked her for letting us share her space.

"It's no problem," she mumbled, already sleepy from a long night of movies and junk food.

"And thank you for naming your ninth imaginary child after me," I added as an afterthought.

"Are you kidding?" Helena snorted from under the covers. "I named all nine of them Barbara. Even the boys."

We shared an affectionate, intimate smile.

"Well I'm honored. Truly."

That wasn't a lie, I was surprised to realize, lying there in the dark wearing Helena's soft, satin nightshirt. In some bizarre way, I was.

_It seems to dream you're dreaming_

_is a terrible mistake._

_I can't tell which dream ended_

_and I'm not sure I'm awake._

_Kenn Nesbit_


	9. Chapter 9

_Once heard, the battle song of an angel becomes part of the listener forever. Each victory becomes a new verse._

_Glorious Anthem_

"Megatron could never successfully rule a planet," Casey commented around a mouthful of popcorn. "Starscream tells him every episode that he's going to betray him, and what does Megatron do? Make him his second in command."

"Keep your enemies closer and all that," I tried to defend the mechanical villain's line of reasoning. "None of the other minions like Starscream. Megatron knows that if Starscream ever tried something no one would ever support him. Everyone is loyal to Megatron."

"Maybe," she allowed cautiously. My four-eyed two-week-old roommate flicked the remote, shutting off the TV and turning to me. "I got a job today."

My mind started at the conversation twist. Casey was a lot like Barbara in that regard. Their minds spun way too fast for little old me to keep up with them. "Another one?"

"Yeah answering phones at Sylvester's. That way I can finally make enough money to get my own place." Her blue eyes shifted almost nervously. "I know I've been staying here for a while..."

"Actually I've been meaning to talk to you about that," I interjected. I hadn't actually been meaning to – my mind usually ran on spur of the moment, or what Barbara referred to as 'idiotically.' Semantics. "I know this is kind of out of nowhere, but... maybe we could help ourselves out. I don't make all that much more than you do you know. If you want we could empty out the studio for a bedroom, split the rent and utilities. Both of us a little more well off each month than we were before."

Her mouth made the compulsory motions of dismay, but I could tell she wanted it.

"I - that's very generous of you, but I couldn't possibly..."

"No generosity involved, only pure selfishness," I promised. "I've been in the market for a roommate for a while," a while being approximately twenty seconds, I thought privately, "but no one really wants to live above a bar. No one savory anyway." I rolled my eyes.

"I wouldn't have to get a car to drive to work." Her bespectacled eyes gleamed. "That would – are you sure? Because I'm more than ready to agree to this. It would make – everything would just be so much easier."

"Yeah," I said. "I'm sure."

The blonde gifted me with a smile, eyes and nose crinkling in a way I could only describe as... cute. I blinked at the realization.

"Want to go celebrate?" she asked, eying me shyly. "Now that I can afford it?"

"Okay," I slowly agreed.

"Celebrating" turned out to be a shopping trip for an air mattress and sheets, in which I craftily snuck off to purchase her first apartment-warming gift (a motorcycle helmet), followed by a club... or two... or three...

Four...

At the last, and I hesitated to ever call the Dark Horse a club, we were greeted like celebrities by our usual patrons, who were more than eager to buy their favorite bartenders a drink and serve us for a change.

"I think I'm falling," I reported as I sat down in a smoky rear booth. "Oof! Okay, successful landing."

Casey laughed as she fell down beside me, the corners of her eyes wrinkling in the way I had found so endearing earlier in the day.

"We should dance," I suggested blithely. "All the music here is good. I picked it all out myself."

"_You_ picked this shit? I refuse to dance to a single song that was made before, like, the year 2000."

"Okay okay, jeez." My head lolled on the alcohol-stained surface of the table. "Pool."

Casey seemed like she was trying to nod but because her head was sideways I wasn't sure if she was trying to actually shake her head no or...

A new track came on. A newer song. New.

What was I thinking?

"Yaaaa." I made a weird noise as the world propelled itself around me. "Where am I going?"

Casey was tugging on my arm, tugging me through the world of music and dancing bodies. "I love this song."

I grinned. "Me too. I picked it, you know." I wasn't sure if she remembered me telling her.

She didn't answer, just drew us into the moving throng, the pounding, pulsating atmosphere enveloping my already dulled senses. Instead of dancing with someone else, however, this go around she decided to dance with me. Except instead of dancing she was grinding her ass against the front of my pants.

I danced with her. Even drunk off my ass I could not help but let the music move me, could not help but revel in the sway of my companion's body against mine.

My hands drew upwards from her waist to the sides of her breasts, savoring the feel of soft flesh that was making my fingertips tingle. Casey moaned and leaned back into me, her back pressing against my nipples.

An annoying, niggling voice in the back of my brain that sounded suspiciously like Barbara whispered something about how this was a bad idea, tempting myself with my brand new roommate.

Roommate...

"Oh yeah!" I jerked away suddenly, grabbing her and pulling her to the freight elevator leading to my – our – apartment. "I got you a present. A house-rotting present. Er, house-warming. Apartment-warming. I have to show you before I pass out."

And the passing out was on a steam train headed straight to my location, no doubt about that. I never could handle alcohol for very long. My body constantly tried to shut itself down and enter feral mode to burn off the alcohol in the bloodstream. It was great to have no hangovers, but it made it a bitch trying to stay awake.

"Okay," Casey giggled. "Hang on, hang on, I need to sit down."

I helped her drop to her butt as the elevator doors slid shut, laughing as she leaned back and stared up at me.

"You're so pretty," she murmured up at me, sincerity lining every tone and pitch of her voice.

A lot of people had complemented me on my beauty, in ways either more prosaic or more rough and crude than those three small words, but I realized none of them had ever sounded like they meant it... not like Casey meant it.

"Thanks." It took me a second to realize I was sitting beside her, despite the fact that the elevator door had opened up to the second floor. I didn't remember falling down. "You're pretty too."

"You're so smart," she added for some reason.

That caused me to smile sadly. She sounded like she really believed that too. "No I'm not. You are, I'm not."

"You are," she insisted, somehow complementing me and making me feel like shit at the same time.

"No," I vehemently disagreed, "if I were smart I wouldn't be getting paid nine dollars a fucking hour serving drinks to fat, rich yuppies... my ass wouldn't be grabbed every fucking hour... I sure as hell wouldn't be wandering around nasty ass back alleys every night in tight clothes, trying to attract the pervs..."

I caught a brazen look of horror flitting across her face. Or was it bewilderment? I couldn't remember which facial expressions matched which emotions.

"I'm just..." I trailed off helplessly. "I'm not like them. I'm not a hero. I'm not a bat. You know?"

She shook her head, staring as though seeing me for the first time. "Do you mean what I think you mean?"

"Muffin tops," I clarified. Or made her more confused. I couldn't tell.

"Baby..."

Something warm was nuzzling my shoulder. Casey.

I stumbled to my feet, taking advantage of my meta-strength to drag the tilting blonde up with me."C'mon. Almost there."

I impressed the both of us as I managed to shove the key in the lock one-handed and twist while maintaining positive control over Casey, who had been insistent on assisting me with inserting the correct key.

We fell rather than walked through the door, toppling over each other in a wet, groaning heap. The wet part came from the open beer bottle Casey had been clutching to her breast like a bible to a preacher.

"I'm going to sleep," I announced.

Casey nudged the door shut with her toe. "Goodnight," she slurred.

I relaxed my back, closing my eyelids and allowing my eyes to dilate. I passed out almost instantly.

*...*

"Mmnn..." I covered my ears at the buzzing.

*...*

"L'me alone," I told the voice. I didn't care what it was saying. I had been waiting to sleep forever and I wasn't planning on ruining it by waking up.

*Wake up Huntress. Don't be difficult.*

"G'way."

*Huntress...*

My eyes blinked. I was pitched flat on my back on the living room carpet. Something warm wriggled beside me and I looked to see two unfocused blue eyes squint at me from behind a pair of glasses.

"Helena? Who are you talking to?"

"Phone," I explained hurriedly, pulling away from her pleasant touch before her eyes could adjust to the dark and see in fact that I wasn't talking on anything. I strode into the kitchen, all signs of intoxication having long ago left my body.

"What's going on?"

*I think the intruder may have left something behind.*

"What?" My mind reeled back to two weeks ago. Not that there was any way I could have forgotten what had happened, but there hadn't been any evidence since. No hairs, no fingerprints, not even video footage.

*Come over and I'll show you.*

My gaze flitted to the wall clock above the TV. 3:50. "Fuck," I groaned.

*I'm sorry Huntress. I just don't think it can wait until tomorrow.*

"Fine. I'll be there."

Great. Just fucking great. I hadn't slept a full eight hours in weeks. This was supposed to have been my night to relax and sleep in. I headed towards the balcony fully intending to make every haste to the clocktower when a small voice halted me.

"Muffin tops?"

Casey was sitting up next to the door, eyes turning, struggling to make me out in the dark.

"Uh... yeah. Nothing to worry about. Go back to sleep, Casey."

"I haven't been asleep," she admitted, somewhat hesitantly. "I couldn't stop thinking... about what you told me."

"What?" I asked, confused. I struggled to remember the night before, but everything after the first couple of clubs was one big woozy haze of alcohol and dancing. "I don't remember much."

"You, uh..." She turned her head away, a red tinge filling her cheeks. "You told me about the muffin top business. You told me what you really did."

"I..."

My breathe caught in my throat. What had I been thinking? Wasn't this what Barbara had always been afraid of, me getting drunk off my ass and juggling her and Dinah's lives around like circus rings? Which was essentially what I had done.

"Did I... tell anyone else?" I questioned her, unable to conceal the horror in my voice.

"Just uh, just me," she stuttered unable to meet my eyes. "I won't tell anyone."

"Right. I uh, right. Thanks."

Mortified, I flew.


	10. Chapter 10

_If I were a boy  
>I think I could understand<br>How it feels to love a girl  
>I swear I'd be a better man.<em>

_Beyonce_

I still did it.

Listened to her sleep, that is.

I felt guilty about it. Wrong. Dirty.

But the clocktower had been so... empty... without it being flooded with Helena's usual voluminous presence. Ever since Casey had moved in with her, the brunette had been spending less and less time harassing my television and raiding my kitchen and more with... her.

I needed the noise. I needed the sense of closeness I had lost.

They went grocery shopping together. They looked at furniture together. They went to clubs together. And maybe Helena didn't see it quite yet, but I was positive Casey had a crush on my best friend and was terribly, terrifyingly close to pursuing it.

It wouldn't have been so terrifying if I didn't think Helena likely of responding to Casey's advances. The brunette's life up until that point had been one long series of one-night encounters, but the truth was I had never seen Helena click with anyone as well as she did with Casey, male or female - and it was no secret that Helena was open to relationships of a more effeminate nature.

Had Helena ever even been on a date? I honestly couldn't recall a one.

I had never so much as considered the possibility of Helena settling down into a relationship before now. Not even when Reese was in the picture – the idea of it had just never seemed feasible.

The mere thought of losing her brought on the silly urge to hug myself.

This urge came often, so instead of embracing myself (which would have been truly pathetic, but perhaps slightly more healthy), I listened.

Every night was the night I told myself I would get to sleep on my own. Every night I proved weak, crawling out of bed and fetching the wireless headset, remotely activating the brunette's comms set and raising the sensitivity so that if it was late enough, Helena would be in bed and breathing softly. Calmly. Comfortingly.

I had fallen asleep with her, in her bed, listening to her sounds for a week while the clocktower was being swept for bugs and bombs. I had made breakfast, lunch and dinner with her, shared meals together, not to mention gone through every single Peter Jackson movie made within the past ten years together. I had almost forgotten how much I had loved spending time with her.

I couldn't quantify it as exactly quality time, however. It was more than that.

What the definition of 'more' was, I couldn't quite say.

It didn't matter. That time was over. I had to move on.

That evening I had snapped the headset in two and thrown the pieces into opposite corners of the Delphi platform.

That was how I ended up finding the device.

A tiny square of silver gleamed from between the pages of an old quantum physics textbook that had been gathering dust holding up one wobbly corner of the Delphi's backup server where the wheel had broken off some years ago.

At first glance I took it to be an iPod, perhaps belonging to Dinah, but in a millisecond I had dismissed the idea. What would something like that be doing back here? It must have been something placed by our messy intruder. Too thin to be a bomb. It bore no peripheral attachments, so it couldn't be collecting from Delphi. It had to be a bug.

A blazing, towering pyre of frustration lit inside my lungs as I sat scrutinizing the foreign object. It was too far down for me to reach in my chair, and the weight of the server would have made it impossible for me to gain proper leverage even if I did deign to lower myself to the dust-bunny ridden floor in an attempt to lift the heavy corner off of the textbook enough to slip the device from its pages.

I needed help.

Swallowing my pride I contacted Huntress over comms, feeling slightly guilty for waking her up from – based on her disoriented mumbles - what sounded like a deep sleep. Nevertheless, it didn't take more than a few minutes to plead Helena into wakefulness and have her on her way.

I reached to flick off the comm when I caught – Casey? – murmuring in the background.

*...Helena...?*

*Go back to sleep,* Helena told her.

I switched off the comm before I could hear any more.

I would ignore everything I just heard.

Helena wouldn't have expected me to hear that.

Normally I had it on normal volume, but I had pitched the microphone's sensitivity up ever since I had started relying on Helena's breathing to reach the elusive state of sleep.

Well that was that then, wasn't it?

Helena and Casey. Casey and Helena.

Good. Excellent.

If Helena had something steady, meaningful, promising then... well, good for her.

I was happy for her. Hadn't I always encouraged Helena to venture out into the dating world? To seek meaningful relationships?

"Barbara?"

"Dinah." I jerked my chair back from the dusty server. "I thought you were staying at Gabby's tonight, sweetheart."

Light blue eyes eyeballed me cautiously. "Are you okay, Barbara?"

"I, ah..." I had no idea of the answer to her question. "I'm okay. I was waiting for Helena to come help me with something – maybe something the intruder left behind. It would be safer for you to leave the clocktower before we decide to try and touch it."

Her eyes darted to where I was pointing.

"What? Barbara – I mean, uh maybe we should both leave," Dinah suggested hurriedly, eyes bugging. "We can let Helena check it out and if it looks like bad news she can make a jump for it. Okay? C'mon, let's -"

"I don't think it's a bomb, Dinah." Well, I hoped it wasn't in any case. "If the intruder wanted us dead he could have killed me and rigged the whole clock tower to blow as soon as the two of you had returned. If I had to guess I'd say it's some type of monitoring device."

Dinah stared at me, apparently contemplating my visage at length. "Should we, uh, be talking about the monitoring device if there's a monitoring device, Barbara?"

"What're they going to do, charge in here and take it back? We're in control Dinah." I swiveled my gaze back to the Delphi. "We're in complete control."

"Barbara..." Dinah edged closer into my peripheral vision, a small frown on her young face. "What's up? You look like someone just ran over your puppy."

Never try to fool a telepath.

"When I contacted Huntress about this," I admitted, struggling to keep myself from blushing, "I might have, ah... overheard something I shouldn't have on comms."

She nudged me encouragingly. "Like...?"

I looked away, scowling. "Like Helena and Casey..."

"Helena and Casey what?"

The word tasted rank in my mouth. "..._together_."

Her face scrunched perplexedly. "What do you mean together - oh. _Together._" Dinah's reaction was perhaps even more unexpected to me then my own. "No way – oh my god, like together together?" She pumped a fist. "Yes! I won. What exactly did you hear? No wait don't tell me, maybe I don't want to know," she said, looking suddenly bashful.

"Won? Won what?" I raised an eyebrow, instantly suspicious of the teenager.

Dinah winced, staring at me like she'd been caught doing something naughty. "Uh... nothing?"

"Dinah."

"Uh... a bet?"

Yes, the teenage suspicion meter was rating off the charts.

"Was that a statement or a question?"

"Uh... a statement?"

I removed my reading glasses and pinched the bridge of my nose exasperatedly. "What bet, Dinah, or do I even want to know?"

"Well..." the blonde hesitated, but as was her wont it was only for a moment before unleashing a missile silo of information. "Okay, me and Gabby sort of had this bet about who Helena was going to end up with, and of course I was totally like Casey, because I mean have you seen them together? They like already live together, and I could already sort of tell from visiting Hel at work that Casey soooo had a crush on her..."

Curiosity. I'd always known it would be my downfall one day.

"...Cause that one time, remember she was all like 'no I'm sort of a fan of Disturbed,' and then Casey was all..."

I deliberately threatened to castrate myself when I opened my mouth to beg the obvious question, how did Dinah get into a bar? My mouth promptly closed after that internal mental threat. There was no reason to make this experience any worse than it already was, after all.

"...So Gabby was all like 'put your money where your mouth is,' and so obviously I said 'you're on,' and she put fifty dollars down that Hel would end up with – er, someone else. So yeah."

A curse upon my inquiring mind, but the compulsion to investigate further was indomitable, especially where Helena was concerned. "Gabby thought Helena would end up with who? Reese?"

No, that didn't make any sense. Gabby had never even met Reese, much less knew Helena had any contact with the NGPD.

An awkward, strangled laugh emitted from the girl. "Funny you should ask..."

"Ugh," I made a small disgusted noise, jumping to the wrong conclusion. "Dick? No. Hel hates Dick." I paused, considering. "...Viscerally."

"Gabby bet on you."

"Well that's not -" I stopped. "That's – that's..."

That... no. Just... no. Right? No.

Helena... and me? Me and Helena?

"I know, right?" The blonde rushed out relievedly, apparently appeased by my obvious 'does not compute' expression. "Like where did she get that?"

Barbara and Helena. The names didn't even sound good together.

Helena and Barbara. That sounded even worse.

Dinah was rolling her eyes exaggeratedly. "Gabby has this insane conspiracy theory that you – ha! – you're secretly _madly_ in love with Hel. Like, who could ever be in love with Helena? Well I guess now Casey," the teenager made a face and so did I, "but hey, maybe she'll change her mind after she see's Helena's stuffed animal graveyard – which you have to admit is pretty creepy. I mean, who gets that attached to -"

A long shadow flitted across the teenager's suddenly bright red face.

"Uh, Helena, hey!"

Helena – mysteriously materializing from around a large data bank – spared me a weary nod of acknowledgment before frowning at the blonde suspiciously. "One, hi. Two, there are only two stuffed animals buried there, and they were better friends to me than you are. They never returned my clothes with bullet holes in them or for that matter borrowed my clothes at all. Three, who would change their mind about what? And four, you two are acting awfully fucking calm standing around chatting right next to a bomb."

Dinah smirked at her smugly in response. "Logic, Huntress. Look it up in the dictionary, take notes, use it, live it. It's not a bomb. It's a monitoring device."

Helena stared at her, then me. "Uh... should we be talking about the monitoring device in front of the monitoring device?"

Dinah snorted as I rolled my eyes.

Me and... her... definitely not.

I felt the sudden urge to hug myself. As per usual, I did not.

_Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. 'Pooh,' he whispered. 'Yes, Piglet?' 'Nothing,' said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw, 'I just wanted to be sure of you.'_


End file.
